Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The grand ballroom of the Aldridge estate was alight with anticipation, its corridors buzzing with the preparations for the evening's grand affair. Servants scurried like shadowed spectres, their efforts aimed at ensuring the event's success, a display of wealth and influence that the Aldridge family could ill afford to tarnish with anything less than perfection.

Cerys, however, found herself ensnared in a battle far removed from the glittering expectations of high society. Her plea for the right to decline attendance at the ball, had ignited a confrontation of a more personal nature.

"I will not go," Cerys declared, her voice a mixture of defiance and desperation as she faced her mother in the privacy of the drawing room. "Not in these... these drabs. While Elara and James are adorned like royalty, you expect me to fade into the background, to smile and curtsy in silence."

Her mother's response was immediate, a slap that cracked through the air with a shocking finality, the force of it turning Cerys's cheek red with pain and humiliation. "You will do as you're told," her mother hissed, the venom in her voice more painful than the physical blow. "You are a part of this family, and you will not embarrass us."

The slap, and the words that followed, resonated with a clarity that cut deeper than Cerys had anticipated. It was a stark reminder of her place within the family, a place defined by convenience and utility rather than love and acceptance.

Tears pricked at the corners of Cerys's eyes, not from the pain of the slap, but from the realisation of her isolation. The family she had yearned to belong to, to be a part of, saw her as little more than an ornament, to be displayed or discarded at their whim.

Recovering her composure with effort, Cerys met her mother's gaze, the sting on her cheek a badge of her burgeoning resolve.

"I don’t understand why you always–," Cerys began, her words cut short by the older woman who interrupted her before she finish.

Her mother's eyes narrowed, the air around them charged with an impending storm. "Disrespectful child," she seethed, stepping forward. The second slap was swift, a sharp rebuke that echoed through the silent room, a physical manifestation of the power struggle that had long simmered beneath the surface of their relationship.

The impact sent Cerys staggering, a red mark blooming on her other cheek, symmetrical in its pain and humiliation. The room spun momentarily as she grasped for balance, her resolve not to break in front of this woman who bore the title of 'mother' but showed none of its warmth or protection.

"I am not being disrespectful," Cerys managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper, but clear and unwavering. "I am being honest."

Her defiance, though quiet, was a clear challenge to the authority her mother wielded with such cold precision. It was an assertion of Cerys's own dignity, a refusal to be diminished any further.

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Her mother stared at her, the fury in her eyes slowly giving way to a cold, calculating look. "You will regret this insolence," she said, her voice a low threat that promised further retribution.

Cerys met her gaze, the pain of the slaps burning on her skin, but it was the pain of realisation that hurt more—the understanding that she truly had no place in this family, no matter how hard she tried to belong. The tears that had threatened to spill over now came freely, not from fear or pain, but from a profound sense of loss for the family connection she would never have. Turning on her heel, Cerys left the drawing room with as much dignity as she could muster, the echoes of her mother's warning following her like a shadow. She knew the battle she faced was just beginning, but so too was her journey to find her own place in the world, one where she could be seen and heard on her own terms.

In her room, Cerys faced the mirror as she stared at her reflection. The dress laid out for her, a garment chosen not for its beauty or elegance but for its ability to render her invisible among the splendour of the evening, hung limply on her frame. The fabric, once perhaps considered fashionable, now bore the telltale signs of neglect—faded, frayed at the edges, and lacking in any lustre it might have once possessed.

The accessories, too, told a story of disregard. A necklace, its chain tarnished and several jewels missing from their settings, lay cold against her skin. The matching earrings, equally diminished in their beauty, did little to distract from the overall air of dilapidation that surrounded her ensemble.

With each piece that she put on, Cerys felt a piece of her spirit dim, the weight of her family's expectations and the reality of her circumstances pressing down on her. Yet, as she pinned the last stray lock of hair into place, a defiant spark ignited within her. This night, this ball, would not define her. She was more than the sum of the worn fabric and missing jewels she adorned. Taking a deep breath, Cerys forced herself to look in the mirror once more with the best resolve she could muster and finally Cerys left her room, her steps measured and deliberate.